A Breath of Fresh Air
A Merry Heart
A Woman's World
A Word in Season
Acting Up
Cyber Walk
Faith Seekers
Golden Apples
Heaven Bound
Just Between Men
Take it to Heart
Teen Truth
The Parents'
Survival Guide

The Treehouse
Through Their Eyes
'Tis the Season
The Joy of Family
The Rhythm of Life
We Are the Church

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From the Editor -
Karen Treharne
The Joy of Family
Featured Article
Spending time with family members is a privilege and a blessing from God. And it doesn't matter whether that's the two- or four-legged kind. There is much love among pets and people and many opportunities for us to bond and to share moments of unconditional love and acceptance. I pray that during this month of January, you are enjoying many such times.

Teaching the Art of Bread Making
By Karen Treharne

Were you lucky enough to have a mother or grandmother who baked bread?

I was first taught the art of bread making by my mother. I would crawl upon a kitchen chair and mom would allow me to make my own tiny loaf while she made the big loaves for our family. I can still hear her voice coaxing and encouraging me when she said, "Use the palm of your hand. There you go. Rock just a little. Now turn it and fold it. Like this. Wonderful!" I would beam with pride.

The hours we spent together over the years were priceless. We laughed at ourselves as we became speckled and smudged with flour, we enjoyed the favorable comments that dad and my brother always made as we all gorged ourselves on the results of our labors … and I was blessed my her love and her servant‘s heart.

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My Old Faded Sled
By Trish Thompson

I remember how in mid-winter my friends and I would all gather at one certain hill at the edge of our neighborhood, pulling our sleds behind us. Only as the snow became packed down just right would that hill become a racetrack, and our sleds would perform as mighty steeds entered in the race … and it reminds me of the love I share with my husband, Lucian.

My sled was old, I’d had it for many years and it was too small, even for me … but still I went up to the top of the hill and waited in line for my turn to dash down the slope. One day in particular, however, when I made my usual running start and flung myself down on its wooden slats just as the crest of the hill turned downward, my trusty charger stopped working. The rust on the metal rails dragged on the snow, the arms would not steer, and all at once, riding down the hill was not fun anymore.

I think of my life like that – before I met the man who would become my husband. I kept going through the motions, kept dragging my sled to the hill … and even though I thought I was doing everything right, I knew something was wrong, something was missing, and it made me sad.

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Bozo, Dirty Biscuits, and Life
By Dan Blankenship

I don’t remember at what age Bozo came into my life, but I do remember the process of naming him. The Beagle-mix (I have no idea what he was mixed with – I just know he was too tall to be all beagle) was given to us by a family friend. My older sisters and I argued over different names for quite some time. It was during our name jousting that a famous show in Chicago came on the air – at its usual time – noon. And so our new family member was named after the "Bozo’s Circus Show", though I don’t think he ever really knew he was so lucky.

I grew up with Bozo, and he with me. When I was sad, I would hug him close. When he seemed sad, he rested his head on my leg and sighed. Yes, he really sighed. And I used to think that only people did that.

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